


3 Idiots and a Baby

by WithMyTeeth (Ylith)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adoption, Babies, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Good Peter Hale, Hale Family Feels, Hale-McCall Pack, Light Angst, M/M, Scott is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Stilinski Family Feels, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, the pack is out of college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylith/pseuds/WithMyTeeth
Summary: One little abandoned Were-baby changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dealing with infertility issues this year, which has been incredibly difficult. Writing this fic has been cathartic so far, and hopefully it will continue to be. Comments are much appreciated! The fic is VERY loosely inspired by 3 Men and a Baby, hence the cracky sounding title. ;)

There were a million different scenarios which flooded Stiles’ mind after Scott quite literally dragged him out of his warm comfortable bed on the insistence that Derek needed them in the preserve. Or, more accurately, Scott was supposed to fetch Stiles and bring him to the burned out shell of Derek Hale’s childhood home. Each scenario grew more and more dire the nearer they approached the house. A witch with a bone to pick, an enraged tree spirit, or fuck...another alpha pack. 

This, Stiles decided, his brows climbing ever increasingly towards his hairline as he peered down into the cardboard box on Derek’s rickety porch, was decidedly not one of them.

“What is it?” Scott asked, his head cocked to the side with his patented bewildered squint set in place.

Stiles didn’t need to look up to feel the force of Derek’s put upon eye roll, instead puffing out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding in, hands resting on his hips to make himself feel a little more centered. “That Scotty, would be a baby.”

“But like a…human baby?” Scott asked, bending at the waist to peer down further into the basket at the pink swaddled lump, the infant somehow still miraculously asleep.

“No, idiot,” Derek snapped. “A werewolf baby...and don’t touch it, the last thing we need is to get our scent on some other Were’s pup.”

This time Stiles did glance up, fixing Derek with a look so smug and mocking it required direct eye contact for full enjoyment on his part. “Pup? Seriously big guy?”

Derek squinted further at him, his mouth clenched so hard it actually clicked. “Shut up.”

“But how did it get all the way out here?” Scott continued, completely oblivious to the eyebrow war going on between Derek and Stiles. “And like…who would just leave their baby at an abandoned house in the woods? Did they leave a note or anything?”

Derek nodded, chin jerking towards the corner of an envelope which was only just peeking out from where it had been wedged beside the blanket. The heavy knit had been carefully tucked around the baby, likely so it couldn’t roll over. Could it even roll yet? It looked pretty tiny. Stiles made a mental note to check Google as soon as they got the whole note issue sorted. 

“Well let’s have it big guy,” he huffed, waving a hand towards the box and the note within. “What does it say?”

Derek huffed again, as though the mere fact Stiles continued to draw breath did him a disservice. “I don’t know, Stiles.” he bit out. “Like I said, I don’t want my scent, or the scent of any of my betas, getting anywhere near it. That’s why I called you.”

Stiles flailed, feeling a bit exasperated himself. Christ almighty, it was like pulling teeth with this one. “Well you should have said dude, jeez!” He moved forward with excessive caution, scared to wake the hitherto sleeping infant, even though their shouting had apparently not been sufficient cause for that thus far.

Derek snapped his fingers impatiently at him, prompting a petty desire in Stiles to make a dog joke at the Sourwolf’s expense. It was only overridden by the stronger desire to know what exactly was written in the note, so Stiles managed to contain himself. 

With as steady a hand as he could manage, Stiles plucked the note from the box, taking a few steps back before he opened it. Using his phone for some extra light, Stiles peered down at the note, frowning as he skimmed the first few lines of the typed message.

“Dude, what does it say?” Scott asked, leaning over his shoulder. 

Stiles hastily licked his lips before reading aloud. “I, Svetlana Kravec, being of sound mind, do transfer guardianship and parental rights of my daughter to my late friend Talia Hale’s surviving children, Derek and Laura Hale....It’s signed by two witnesses and a notary public-” Stiles and Scott both stared slack jawed at Derek, who immediately took two long strides forward to snatch the paper out of Stiles’ limp hand and read it himself...several times. 

Stiles reached back into the envelope and pulled out another folded piece of notebook paper, thick from something else inside. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he found a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills and a handwritten note which simply read “Please protect her, don’t trust Alpha McCormac.” He thumbed the paper over for any other notations, but found none. “Well that’s cryptic,” he murmured to himself even as Derek took the second note from him as well. 

“Do you know who that is, Derek?” Scott asked, leaning over Derek’s shoulder to scan the note along with him. 

Derek shook his head, brow furrowed. “No, but Peter might...he was more involved with pack dynamics than I was back then.”

Stiles and Scott offered twin groans at the mention of Derek’s esteemed uncle. Zombiewolf had kept mostly to himself in the past few months, but they all knew better than to take his absence as any effort on his part to respect their repeated wishes for distance. Going to Peter for information was always tricky, as anything he agreed to freely part with usually came with some little angle for himself. 

“But what are we going to do with it in the meantime?” Scott asked, eyes dancing between Stiles and Derek. “We can’t exactly leave the kid in a box on your porch, dude.”

Derek shrugged. “Sure we can,” he countered. “I didn’t ask for this, and I definitely don’t want to inadvertently start a pack war. We have no idea how established this other pack is...this whole thing is just asking for trouble we don’t need and aren’t equipped for.”

“So you’re what, just going to leave her here to die?” Stiles scoffed, immediately calling what he hoped was Derek’s bluff. “How the hell is that your logical alternative?”

“I’m going to call CPS and report an abandoned baby,” Derek snapped, chin jutting toward the box as he crossed his arms defensively under the twin looks of horror he received from Scott and Stiles. “They can at least place her with a foster family. Maybe your dad knows a good social worker who could help.”

Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically at the sheer lunacy of that suggestion. “Oh yeah, great idea big guy. Let’s just hand the werewolf baby over to the local authorities! What could possibly go wrong there.”

“Can it like….shift yet?” Scott asked, peeking back down into the box. “What if it gets all wolfy.”

“She’s too young to shift,” Derek insisted with a slight shake of his head, face pinched as he avoided both their eyes. “Born wolves are more resilient than human babies, but we don’t shift until we reach puberty.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think people will notice that the kid doesn’t get sick? That she heals at a ridiculously accelerated rate?” Stiles countered, arms crossed over his own chest as he took a step into Derek’s space. “And at some point she’s going to shift. It’s still a huge gamble, and you know it. After the lengths you took to make sure Scott didn’t get caught back in High School, do you seriously expect us to believe you’re just going to let loose a werewolf baby on Beacon Hills Social Services?”

As if on queue, a displeased snuffle sounded from the box. All three looked down to see the baby start to squirm, little body shifting beneath the blanket and face pinching in displeasure. Her sparse little brows furrowed, cheeks squishing as two mittened fists jerked from beneath the blanket. A few breathy grunts were all that heralded her distress, Scott and Stiles jumping back on reflex when the first wail broke out from within the box. 

Scott’s face crumpled, his eyes wide and gentle as they looked from the box to Derek. “We’ve got to do something, Derek...she’s just a helpless little baby.”

Derek glowered at them both, arms folded over his chest. “We are doing something, we’re giving her to people who will know how to take care of her-”

“Um...hello? Werewolf, remember?” Stiles groaned, gesturing wildly down at the box. 

Derek took two long strides closer, voice hushed through gritted teeth as the baby continued to wail. “Exactly, Stiles. She’s a werewolf from a pack we don’t know, but whose Alpha was dangerous enough for her mother to risk everything to bring her here. We don’t know if he’s looking for her, or how strong his pack is…but we aren’t strong enough to invite that kind of trouble.” He waved the folded notes in Stiles’ face for emphasis. “The woman who wrote these may have known my mother, but I doubt she knew our pack now consists of a few mismatched wolves, a banshee, and a human.”

The baby’s wails intensified, her face near purple from desperation. Stiles stood a moment, torn between Derek’s hardened stare and Scott’s helpless pout until he couldn’t take it any longer. He wrenched his arm from Derek’s grip when the older wolf halfheartedly tried to hold him back, forcing a broad grin as he crouched down to the box and reached inside. 

“It’s ok, kiddo, it’s ok. The big bad wolf isn’t giving you away just yet…” He tilted his head to survey the wriggling form below, the face all scrunched wrinkles and toothless maw. She was shaking with the ferocity of her sobs, mittened fists trembling on either side of her head. She looked so small, tiny and fragile, and Stiles felt woefully unprepared as he reached down and pulled back the knit blanket. He felt Scott brush past him, heard him argue in hushed whispers with Derek, but opted to ignore them and focus on the swaddled ball of rage before him. 

“Who’s a good...baby?” he simpered brightly, faltering on the words as he struggled to think of what to say. Stiles’ experience with newborns was brief to say the least, limited to his home economics class where they’d been given dolls to “parent” for a week. Stiles had gotten a C for dropping the doll four times, which he now realized was a severe misapplication of generosity on the part of his teacher. He’d babysat for Wanda the dispatcher a few times at the station, but her son had been at least a year old and not so...floppy. 

He remembered to support the baby’s neck as he lifted her, trying to stay as chill as possible as holy shit...this was so not a doll. The baby was squishy and light, warm and wriggling and so alive, her head wobbling precariously in Stiles’ unsure hold. “Holy shit...ok...yeah...you’re ok...we’re all ok here…ohmygod” 

The shaky words only seemed to mount the poor thing’s distress, her little legs tucked up defensively and arms still trembling as she continued to wail. Scott and Derek had maneuvered closer to him, both of them carefully tracking his every movement, uncertainty knit into their faces. Seeing as they were offering absolutely nothing in way of assistance, Stiles opted to ignore them and carefully drew the baby towards his chest. His heart nearly stopped when his fingers shifted and her head began to loll back, relief washing over him like an icy wave when he only just managed to correct his hold. 

She stayed curled like a little pill bug, legs drawn up close to her body and fists still clenched beside her face. Careful as he could, Stiles brought her up the rest of the way, one hand resting below her diapered bottom and the other behind her head. She slumped against him, fuzzy head tucked beneath his chin, her warm skin wet with her tears against his neck. She was still crying, trembling in his hold as he shushed her. He bounced her, movements stilted and awkward until they began to somehow work. She snuffled, face nosing against him in her attempts to squirm, but she didn’t yet have the required coordination of her little limbs. 

He had no idea how many minutes had passed since he first picked her up to when she finally began to quiet, but it was without doubt the most focused Stiles had ever been in his life. He whipped his head around, fixing Scott with a wide eyed flash of excitement. He would have fist pumped in triumph if he had a free hand, grinning wide when Scott did it for him. Such a bro. 

Derek was still directing full bitchface at him, which Stiles thought was totally uncalled for, but then the older wolf’s nostrils flared in distaste and Stiles realized the stoney expression wasn’t entirely directed at him. Then Scott wrinkled his nose, actually taking a step back. “Dude…” he cringed, pointing at the baby’s bottom.

Stiles frowned, craning his neck to look around her before the smell finally hit him. “Oh god.” Shit. That was totally shit he was smelling. He spun around, looking for something….anything. “Scottie Boy, get me that blanket.” He inclined his head towards the box, and moved to the jeep. “Derek, get my keys out of my pocket.”

Derek flinched away at the request. “What?” his brows furrowed into a solid line, looking like Stiles had just told him to punch himself in the face. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, head lolling back with an exaggerated groan. “Keys. Pocket. I want to open the tailgate to change her diaper.”

Derek steadfastly put his hands in his own pockets, not moving forward an inch. “With what, genius? We don’t exactly have supplies, do we?”

“Wet wipes in my glovebox, ‘genius’.” Stiles snapped back, whispering in his attempt to not agitate the baby further. “I’ve kept some in there since our messy werewolf shenanigans back in high school. I should have a blanket in there too.” 

Derek’s head fell back with a groan, eyes rolling as he finally stepped forward with the most obvious reluctance he could master. “Which pocket?” he asked through his teeth, mouth an unhappy line. 

Stiles jutted his hip forward, indicating it with a nod. Derek was still staring at his pocket like it contained something which would bite him, so Stiles waggled his hips a bit. By that time Scott had returned dutifully with the blanket, and with a quick “I got you, bro” he’d reached into Stiles’ pocket and withdrawn the keys. 

“Thank you ‘Scottie’, my one true friend,” Stiles emphasized with a glare at Derek. He gently bounced the baby, hand cupping the back of her silky head, but she was squirming again, chin trembling as she worked up another set of throaty wails. “It’s ok!” he insisted, the panic creeping into his voice doing little to soothe her. Careful not to trip, he followed Scott to the truck where his friend had just opened the tailgate and laid out the blanket. By the time Stiles had her on the blanket, she was full body trembling, fists clenched on either side of her face as she kicked weakly. Her little voice shook as she cried, race red and eyes scrunched closed. 

Stiles could feel Scott and Derek hovering behind him as he set the wet wipes aside and rubbed his hands together to warm them, grateful that she was still too young to do more than squirm in place. He was just reaching for the fastenings of her onesie when Scott slapped a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“Dude…” Scott started cautiously. “I don’t think you can change her diaper.”

Stiles snorted, shrugging Scott’s hand off. “Pretty sure I can, Scott,” he countered. “I used to babysit Wanda’s son at the station, I changed him a few times and he could actually move.”

Stiles was about to resume his effort before Scott stopped him again, puppy-earnest face twisted in clear discomfort. “Yeah but...I mean...she’s a girl.”

Both Stiles and Derek faced Scott at that, Stiles blinking rapidly as he drummed up some sort of a response. “Those werewolf powers are keen as ever, buddy,” he quipped. “What are you getting at?”

Scott’s eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and Derek, as though he were baffled they hadn’t caught on yet. Scott leaned in close, voice lowered conspiratorially. “She has, like...lady parts,” he whispered, eyes cutting towards the wriggling form on the blanket. “It’s not decent.”

Stiles heard Derek groan aloud behind him, head turning to catch the tail end of Derek’s eye roll before it resettled into the man’s classic bitchface. Derek may have been exasperated, but Stiles thought Scott’s reluctance was kind of adorable. “Yeah, well, she’s a ‘baby’ Scott, and we’re all dudes here. It’s not like she can change herself, and if I don’t she’s going to keep crying and probably get a rash or something. Besides, dads change their daughters all the time, right? Moms change their sons.”

This seemed to appease Scott, who made no further objections as Stiles managed to work her onesie off and set it aside. He took a deep breath before going to the diaper, knowing it would be bad when Scott and Derek both took two firm steps back and covered their noses. It still wasn’t prepared for the smell which emitted from the opened diaper. 

Stiles gagged, rearing back on a cough. “Holy...god! What the-” He held his breath as best he could, head craned back as far as he could manage while he lifted her tiny legs with one hand and slid the too full diaper out with the other, wiping as much of the sticky yellowish goop off her as possible. He realized too late that he couldn’t get to the wipes without setting down the diaper, but he didn’t want to put the soiled mess on the blanket or anywhere near his tailgate. Just in case. He held the diaper out towards Derek, telling the werewolf to take it. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Derek offered helpfully, the neck of his shirt pulled up over his nose, hand still clasped over his nose and mouth for good measure. Derek took a quick step back when Stiles finally just tossed the dirty diaper on the ground, figuring they could deal with it later. Neither of the two losers offered to help him as he used every last one of his wipes to clear the poop from her butt, thighs, and everywhere else it had drifted. The dirty wipes ended up on the ground with the diaper, and Stiles felt a little frisson of delight at the irritation wafting off Derek at Stiles’ desecration. 

Once Stiles had carefully wiped his hands off, he looked down at the baby, naked and somehow even more upset than she was before. Her tiny toes splayed out in her distress and her chin trembled with her desperate sobs. Stiles fanned her dry with a hand, looking around for something to use as he came to the sinking realization he had no other diapers to put on her. “Shit…”

“Can you just put her clothes back on?” Scott asked, practically wringing his hands as he looked down at the belligerent infant. “Her mom left money, we could go buy some diapers before she does anything again.”

“It’s eleven at night,” Derek reminded them with a huff. “Where the hell are you going to buy diapers?”

Stiles left them to bicker amongst themselves and instead made an executive decision, wrapping her in the blanket and refolding it twice until she was sufficiently swaddled to his liking. “Walmart’s open 24 hours, we can go get some stuff there.” He stooped to slide a hand under her neck to support her head, the other under her butt before he lifted her back towards his chest, mouth wide open with a goofy smile in hopes of distracting her. It didn’t work. Stiles had to admire her stamina, for such a tiny thing, she was putting up a good fight.

Derek eyed them both with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket as they got ready, Stiles bouncing the baby and cooing at her in a sugary soft voice while Scott retrieved her cardboard box. Derek’s jaw clenched when Scott closed the tailgate, legs splaying into his ‘I’m the Alpha’ power stance as he listened to the two of them chatter about the supplies they’d need. “You’re seriously doing this?” he asked, frustration mounting. When they both just gaped at him, he took two strides forward, unblinking as he looked eyes with first one and then the other. “This isn’t a game, this is another pack’s cub. Neither of you know even anything about babies...if anything went wrong and they found her…” Derek trailed off, let the implications hang between them. 

“Nothing will go wrong,” Scott insisted, naive in his sincerity but genuine all the same. 

Stiles though grew irritated, eyes narrowing as he studied Derek. “What other option do we have, big guy, I mean really?” The baby coughed in his arms, cries interrupted by a wide yawn, her eyes drifting shut even as she struggled to open them back up. She was losing steam finally, settling her hot little face against his collarbone, mouth pursing in a suckle. 

Derek’s face softened the slightest bit. “This isn’t something you can just back out of when you get bored,” he said. “She’s not a lost dog, Stiles, she’s a baby...and if you really do this, if you take her in and take care of her, she’s going to grow attached. That’s a big deal with werewolves. Once she bonds with you, you can’t undo it. If you decide you can’t handle it, it’ll traumatize her.”

Stiles sighed, his previous frustration melting at the sincere concern in the man’s voice. Derek was not a bad person. A hard-ass? Yes. A pain in the ass? Absolutely. But Derek was one of the most selfless people Stiles knew, often forsaking his own wants and needs for those of his pack. His point was a valid one, absolutely, but Stiles still didn’t see a way around it. He looked down at where the baby was resting against his chest, her eyelids drooping and nose still curled with attempted sobs she was too tuckered out to make any longer. Her nostrils flared against his bare skin, brow wrinkling as she seemed to consider it. She was so small in his arms, so scared, and it completely broke his heart. His decision to take her home might be a gamble, but it was one he was willing to make, that he had to make. He wouldn’t even consider the alternative. Her mother had trusted Derek’s pack for a reason, and Stiles intended to do his best to live up to her expectations, even if they were of someone else. 

He said as much to Derek, who still did not seem comfortable with the whole idea, but nodded his begrudging acceptance. “I’m going to talk to Peter, see if he knows anything about her Alpha. Keep her in the box if you can, don’t hold her too much. Just...think about it for a day or two before you get in too deep, ok?”

Stiles nodded, glancing over to see Scott watching him. Scott offered a small smile, his support enough to build some more of Stiles’ flagging confidence. He could totally do this, and he wouldn’t be completely alone. 

He just hoped his dad wouldn't kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I got a nasty respiratory plague which just doesn't want to go away. Hope you enjoy :D

Chapter 2

Stiles felt stupid walking through the doors with the baby in his arms, nervously glancing down now and then to double check that she was covered properly by the blanket. He supposed that a naked baby in a blanket was probably not the weirdest thing to walk through the sliding doors at Walmart, but considering she was a werewolf and the whole point of this was to keep her ‘away’ from DCFS, it paid to be cautious. 

The baby aisle was...insanity. 

Scott and Stiles gaped at the rows and rows of various foods, powders, snacks, and juices. There was at least three shelves of powdered formula alone, various brands with colorful labels swimming before them, each with different number and age range. They picked up various canisters, reading over the labels until their eyes were ready to cross, the baby a slack weight in Stiles’ arm while she blessedly slept. She’d screamed her head off the whole way in the car, just dozing off a bare minute before they’d parked. Stiles had hoped to quickly grab some formula and a bottle and prepare it before she woke up, but now he was beginning to doubt the feasibility of that plan. 

“Which do we get?” Scott mused aloud, more to voice their mutual confusion than in expectation of an answer. They scanned the rows several times, inspecting various cans before they both took their phones out, Stiles to read online reviews of which was best, and Scott to call his mom. 

Melissa proved the true winner. After a few harried questions about whose baby it was and how the hell she ended up in Stiles Stilinski’s care, she finally calmed enough to answer them. Stiles could almost telepathically see her look of matronly disapproval when they didn’t even know her age or weight, but with a quick and careful jostle he estimated she weighed about the same as the ten pound bag of rice he always bought from Costco. Melissa guessed she was between one and two months and would need an infant formula with an iron supplement in it. 

“Don’t forget to sterilize the nipple before feeding her,” Melissa’s voice rang tinny and trepidacious over Scott’s speaker after she explained the ounce to body weight ratio for feeding and the importance of using distilled water. “You’ll need to do that until she’s three months old at a minimum...werewolf or not.”

Melissa continued with advice about easy flow bottle to prevent gas, checking the temperature of the formula on the inner wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot, and only letting her sleep on her back. Scott and Stiles both looked at each other, mouths drawn in mirrored grimaces. This whole thing was getting more and more complicated. As if on cue, the baby jerked in Stiles’ arms, lower lip pouting out as her brows furrowed unhappily. 

“Oh no…no no go back to sleep, five more minutes,” Stiles begged in a little singsong, rocking her and patting her butt, both of which proved completely ineffective when two seconds later she was opening her mouth again with a pitiful cry. 

Scott grabbed three canisters of the formula his mom had suggested, quickly thanking her before hanging up. The diapers were thankfully just down the aisle. Scott insisted they get the organic cloth wipes, and they ended up with three sizes of name brand diapers because the suggested weight range of each was so close, and the despondent infant didn’t really allow for adequate browsing time. 

Stiles finally had to devote both arms to holding her still as she’d somehow managed to worm some limbs free, a bare leg frog kicking while she pushed ineffectively at her own face with one mittened fist. Scott kept darting these little panicked looks at her as they made their way through the aisles, picking up the essentials. When they had everything they needed to make a bottle or change a diaper, they hauled ass to the checkout, ignoring a few pointed glares from fellow late night shoppers. 

The lady at the checkout kept stealing glances between Scott and Stiles before pursing her lips down at the screaming baby as she scanned their items. Stiles rocked the baby in his arms, adjusting the blanket back over her jerking limbs before the disapproving woman could get a good look. Once they had their items paid for, they raced over to the attached coffee shop which was also thankfully open 24/7. 

The woman manning the counter was thankfully bored enough to help them out, rinsing the new bottle and rubber nipple with boiling water to clean and sterilize each, and helping them work out the right temperature for the water to mix with the powder. When the bottle was finally ready, and they had shaken drops of formula against the inside of their wrists to test the temperature about three times each, Stiles shifted her in his hold and raised the bottle to her wailing mouth. 

It took a few nudges of the rubber nipple before she caught on, but once she latched greedily her eyes widened, cries silenced for the first time in what felt like hours. Stiles’ head shot up to meet Scott’s, his friend’s giddy grin matching his own delight. If he had a free hand, they would have fist pumped. “Crisis averted,” Stiles said with an exaggerated sigh, glancing back down to watch the baby ravenously suck down the formula. 

“You guys seem a little out of your depth,” the woman behind the counter mused, glancing back and forth between them with raised brows. “Are you together?”

Scott giggled at that, nudging Stiles before he thought better of it. Thankfully Stiles had a good grip and the baby wasn’t disturbed. “No, just friends” he finally said in answer to the puzzled barista, indicating the baby with a nod of his head. “It’s a foster situation, came up really suddenly. I didn’t think I’d be placed with an infant when I signed up, but duty calls, right?”

Scott was gaping at him in a way that made Stiles want to shove him, but thankfully the woman seemed to buy his story, even cooing a little as she looked down at the baby. The baby’s eyelids were beginning to droop, fatigue setting in now that her hunger was somewhat sated. She had to be completely exhausted after her extensive row, her flushed face still tacky with her drying tears. She continued to suckle even when her eyes finally closed, breaths huffy and irregular from her prior anxiousness. 

“What’s her name?” the lady asked, leaning forward over the counter to peer at her. 

Stiles gazed down at her, at her long dark lashes and silken tufts of black hair, the sharp peak of her upper lip. “Milena,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue before he’d even registered it had come to him. 

A few moments later, when they’d put all the bags in the car and seated themselves, Scott turned to him, a cautious look on his open face. “Wasn’t that your mom’s middle name?” he asked, reaching out to help Stiles pull the seatbelt around and buckle it when his friend struggled to do so with the baby in his arms. 

Stiles nodded, going for nonchalant but missing when he found he couldn’t meet Scott’s eyes. “It just popped in my head,” he said with a shrug, looking down. “But I think it suits her.”

They had their next freakout when she puked all over Stiles.

Scott actually had to pull the jeep over, the both of them frantic as Stiles raised the baby to his chest, patting her back as more milky fluid bubbled out of her mouth and oozed down her chin. 

“Oh my god, did we poison her?” Scott asked, brows in his hairline and hands hovering above Stiles’. They both grimaced as they looked down at the mess soaked all down the front of Stiles’ shirt and splattered across the blanket. 

“Oh god, it’s so warm,” Stiles groaned, grimacing as he looked down at the spit up. “It went down my shirt, Scotty...ugh, it’s so slimy.”

The baby seemed as startled by the goings on as they were, her head jerking as she came awake, arms coming up to rub the spittle about her face and legs bunching beneath the soiled blanket. Her breaths quickened, a small whine breaking free as she began to gently cry again, not that Stiles could blame her this time. 

“Ok....” Stiles said, taking a deep breath and wracking his brain for any memory he could of his Home Ec baby care lessons. “I think this is ok....I think babies just throw up a little after eating sometimes...”

“You think?” Scott asked, a little shrill and far from sounding convinced. 

“Oh my god, Scotty, you took the same class I did, don’t you remember either?” Stiles snapped, grimacing as his minor movements made his shirt stick to him in a most unpleasant way. 

“I got like a D in that class,” Scott grumbled. “And it was like eight years ago, dude...I’m calling my mom.”

Thankfully, they had not poisoned her, but Melissa reminded them that they had to burp her after every feeding, and said to keep an eye out for any rash or indication she was allergic to the iron in the formula. She threw out a few more tips while on the phone before telling them to both take deep breaths and get it together, her sharp tone enough to cut through their panic and get them back on the road to the Stilinski house. 

Stiles had thought the worst was over until they were walking to the front door. His arms were tingling from holding the baby for the past couple hours, his back stiff and protesting as he stood waiting for Scott to find the right key on his keychain, when he felt something warm spreading against his fingertips. He frowned, craning his neck to try and see beyond his bundle when it dawned on him that the warmth was also ‘wet,’ realizing what it was just as the first few drops began to plop against the porch. 

“Oh my god!” Stiles started, shoulders burning as he held his arms out, trying to create some distance. “She’s pissing on me, Scott help!”

Scott whirled, bags dropping heavily down onto the porch as he reached forward and put his hands under the baby’s head and back, helping support her weight as Stiles held her out, the urine dripping quite freely now from the dangling ends of the blanket. They both stared down at the baby propped precariously between them, her face scrunched sleepily, one eye cracked as she yawned and hiccuped. 

“We need to figure the diapers thing out before she poops again,” Stiles mused to himself, to which Scott nodded in sage agreement. 

Scott cocked his head to the side, leaning forward to scan over Stiles’ already filthy clothes. “Did she get any on you, bro?”

Stiles glanced down himself, unable to see in the dark, but not feeling any patches which felt particularly fresh or warm. “I think I dodged that one. Not that it matters, pretty sure I’ve got every other bodily substance…”

Scott snorted. “Welcome to foster fatherhood, I guess.”

They ended up rinsing her very carefully in the kitchen sink, the both of them practical powder kegs of anxiety every time her head fell back in their unsteady grip. The baby was already vocally unhappy when they took her out of her blanket cocoon, and her distress only grew amidst their fumblings. She was full body trembling by the end of it, her little fingers and toes splayed nubby chin vibrating from the intensity of her sobs. All three of them were only too happy for the whole ordeal to be over. 

Stiles asked Scott to hold her for two minutes while he ran to fetch a towel and a fresh shirt for himself. He put the wriggling baby into his friend’s arms himself to ensure Scott had a secure enough grip on her, and still barked out a laugh at the panic in Scott’s eyes when he finally let go and took a step back. He sprinted up the stairs for the towel, snatching a clean shirt out of the dryer just as Scott pitifully called up the stairs to him. He changed quickly, still in desperate need of a shower but happy enough for the time being to no longer wear his crusty shirt before clambering back down the stairs. He gave his arms a good shakeout before taking the baby back, her nose turning into the bare skin at his clavicle as she attempted to curl the rest of her body against him like a pillbug. He had the towel draped around her, a hand beneath her butt keeping her in place while the hand behind her back and head kept her neck supported. She calmed a bit once back in his arms, little fingers curling weakly against his shirt. 

He held her for a moment while he sent Scott to get the bags off the porch, looked down into her slitted eyes and noted the pursed suckling of her mouth. She was probably getting hungry again, probably never really was sated the first time they fed her after puking most of her formula up. While Scott set up everything they’d bought for a diaper change, Stiles managed to get a saucepan from the drying rack one handed and fill it half with water, setting it on the stove to heat. 

They laid her out on a towel on the kitchen table, a the baby a wriggling pink lump of misery yet again when naked once more and away from the comfort of Stiles’ body heat. Stiles and Scott quickly compared the three packages of diapers they had bought, held up one of each beside her until they decided which looked best like it would fit. This part Stiles at least knew how to do, thanks to his forced babysitting sessions at the station, this baby was just much smaller and more floppy than Wanda’s son had been. He worried about lifting her legs too high, or bending her wrong, or putting the diaper too tight. Stiles finally gave in and quickly searched “how tight should a diaper be” on his phone, and with Google on his side he was able to finish the diapering process with a degree of confidence. 

Once completed, Scott dug into the bag and pulled out a soft grey onesie with pale pink stars on it. While a little large on the baby, it fit her well enough for the time being. “We should make a list,” Stiles said aloud. “Of stuff to get tomorrow for her.”

Scott nodded, grabbing a notepad and pen while Stiles picked the fussing baby back up and went about cleaning and preparing a bottle for her. He had Scott measure out the formula into the bottle and shake it while they brainstormed, the both of them testing the temperature before they moved into the living room to feed her. 

“Burping cloths,” Scott said, scrolling through a list they’d found on a list of suggested gifts for baby showers. “For when she spits up.”

“Ugh, yes,” Stiles agreed, wedging a pillow under his elbow with his knee so he could prop his arm up while he fed her, moaning aloud at how good it felt to have actual lumbar support when he leaned back in the armchair. “More bottles, a carseat, some blankets…”

“Another billion wipes,” Scott mused. 

“Two billion.”

Scott drummed the pen against the notepad, biting his lip as he watched Stiles feed the baby. “You still sure about this?” he asked. “I know it sounds stupid, but it kind of only just dawned on me how big a deal this is…”

Stiles sighed in agreement. He wasn’t having second thoughts, but he definitely was getting a clearer picture of what he was in for. He looked down at the baby - Milena, his brain supplied again, at her drooping eyes and splotchy cheeks, felt the frightened patter of her heart beneath his hand where he braced lightly against her chest to hold the bottle, and felt this protective surge course through him. “I know it’s probably crazy, but I want to try, Scott.”

“It’s definitely crazy,” Scott chimed in agreement, brows rounded as he looked down at the feeding infant. He looked sheepish then, head bowed before he looked back up at Stiles. “A bit too crazy for me? I don’t think I can play daddy number two after all, dude. I’m sorry but I am so not cut out for this stuff. Uncle all the way though, I’ll be the best freaking uncle.”

Stiles couldn’t think of what to say, so he just felt his fist out for Scott to bump. 

After they’d managed to feed, burp, and successfully change her one more time, the baby finally passed the fuck out in Stiles’ arms. Scott went out to get her box from the car, both of them figuring it was a safe enough spot for her to sleep for the night once her blanket was clean. Once Scott left and Stiles was truly alone with the baby for the first time, the reality of the situation finally began to really sink in. This was a baby, a living breathing mini were-person who would rely on him for her every care for the next...well for a long ass time. This crazy night he’d just had was only the beginning, and it wasn’t even over. 

Stiles took a deep breath alone in the middle of the living room, one more for good measure, then got to work. He managed to grab his soiled shirt off the floor with his toes and pull his leg up high enough that he could grab it without having to bend forward and shift the baby too much. He took that, her piss and puke covered blanket, and her old onesie and tossed the lot into the washing machine. All the while she was remained out cold, her mouth pursed in sleep and occasionally twitching, forehead finally relaxed and face losing the redness which had seemed permanently stained into it in the past hours. 

With the laundry running, Stiles trudged down the hall to his bedroom. He stood in the doorway a moment, took in the clothes on the floor and the rumpled bedding he distinctly remembered jerking off in the night before, and then turned and kept on walking down to his dad’s room. He changed his dad’s sheets far more frequently than he did his own, and figured the top of his comforter would be as clean a place as any to leave her while he finished washing her blanket. 

Stiles carefully lay Milena in the middle of his dad’s bed, up near the headboard. “I’m just gonna choose to believe my dad doesn’t beat off for my own personal sanity, how does that sound?” he cooed at the sleeping baby as he built a pillow barricade around her. Google had told him that babies couldn’t even roll over until three months old, but he wasn’t about to take chances. He stood with his arms extended over her for several minutes just watching her sleep, waiting to see if she’d move. She just lay there, arms sprawled beside her head and legs tucked up towards her diapered butt. 

Satisfied she’d be safe alone for two minutes, Stiles quickly sprinted downstairs to get her box and a can of coke for himself from the fridge. He checked back in on her, finding her in the exact same position before setting her box in his own bedroom. He then grabbed his laptop and tossed it into his computer chair, which he promptly wheeled over to his dad’s bedroom. Stiles set up his chair at the end of the bed, moving some of the pillows so he could see Milena properly before sitting back in the chair and propping his feet on the bed, his computer in his lap. He worked on the shopping list he and Scott had started, scoured Amazon reviews of car seats and other products they needed to find the best ones, found a few Mommy blogs which looked promising and had helpful tips and favorite brands. 

Stiles was so absorbed in his research that he never heard the front door open, or the heavy footfalls up the stairs. He did however look up when his dad’s broad frame filled the doorway, the Sheriff’s lined face scrunched with confusion when he saw Stiles sitting at the foot of his bed. His confusion only confounded when he followed Stiles’ nervous eye flicker to the head of his bed to find the sleeping baby there. 

John stood in the doorway, brows steadily climbing towards his hairline as he gaped at the sleeping infant. Finally he raised his hands in surrender, his head shaking as he backed up with a tired “I don’t even want to know.”

Stiles swallowed, wincing at his father’s retreating form before the Sheriff stopped and turned back. “Actually,” he said, striding forward with a hand raised. “I really do. What the hell is going on, who's baby is that? Cause I know it’s not yours.”

Stiles scoffed, jaw falling open as he blinked rapidly, swallowing as he stalled for time. “She could be mine…” he squeaked. 

“You don’t exactly have childbearing hips,” his dad retorted, head cocked and arms crossing as if he were bracing himself for the excuses about to come forth. 

Stiles scoffed, flushing at his dad’s sarcastic insinuation. “Yeah, well...I could have this whole secret werewolf girlfriend you know nothing about. She could just not be ready to raise a child and left her on our doorstep.” 

The Sheriff snorted, painfully unimpressed and obviously losing patience. “You don’t have a werewolf girlfriend, Stiles, or any girlfriend for that matter. You are many things, but subtle will never be one of them.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, shutting his laptop with a little too much force. 

John strode forward towards his bed in full Sheriff stance, hands on his hips and entire face pinched in concern. “So she’s a werewolf? Why doesn’t the pack have her? Like Scott, or Derek?”

Stiles fixed his dad with a pointed look, eyes narrowing. “You really want to know why Scott doesn’t have her?”

John sighed in acquiescence, a hand rubbing down his face. “Derek then...what is this baby doing here in my bed?”

Stiles made a helpless gesture towards the baby on the comforter. “I uh….change your sheets a lot more than I change my own. Nothing’s set in stone yet, Dad. Derek was just weird about keeping another werewolf’s baby, and I figured as the pack human I could play Switzerland and keep her while we figured things out.”

John covered his face in both his hands now, sighing heavily before centering himself with a deep breath. “Jesus, Stiles....it’s a baby, not a lost puppy. You need to contact social services and make sure it’s properly taken care of.”

“She’s also not an ‘it’, while we’re on the subject,” Stiles cut in, taken aback at his dad’s reaction. His dad was usually the patron saint of lost causes, after all he’d put up with Stiles for the past twenty four years. Granted, it was after two in the morning and his dad had been working for about sixteen hours, but he still seemed uncharacteristically gruff. “She’s a baby, dad...and in case you didn’t hear me before, she’s a werewolf. You want to explain that one to potential adoptees?”

John sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in obvious resignation to the situation. He held his hands up in surrender, looking more weary than Stiles remembered seeing him in a long time. “Ok,” he sighed. “I’m too tired to deal with this right now...do you at least have what you need to get through the night?”

Stiles nodded. “Scott and I picked some stuff up earlier, and I’ve got Melissa on speed dial. We’ll be fine.”

His dad nodded, whether in acceptance or resignation Stiles couldn’t tell. “We’ll talk in the morning, ok?” John suggested with a groan, fatigue etched into his face. “When I can at least think straight.”

Stiles’ head bobbed with his eager nod, glad his dad was going to giving in at least for the night. He carefully gathered the baby into one arm, grateful when she stirred but did not wake up, and with his free hand dragged his computer chair behind him back into his own room. He offered his dad a sheepish smile and weak “goodnight,” wincing when his dad shut the door on him with little more than a roll of his eyes. 

Just as Stiles was getting fresh sheets out of the linen cabinet, the baby began to stir again, squirm in his hold, her plump cheek squishing up where it pressed against his chest as she whined. Her normally tucked legs pushed out straight, feet even pointed, her breath quickening with a little cough. Stiles bounced her in the hall, still standing in front of the open closet as he tried to shush her back to sleep. He could feel the disapproval radiating from his dad’s room, so he quickly grabbed what he needed and made a hasty retreat for his own room. He set a clean blanket down inside her box and then lay her inside, hoping she would quiet while he made his own bed. 

He stripped his bed in record time, grimacing at the stiff patches he encountered as he wadded up the old sheets, but by the time he’d managed to tug the fitted sheet into place, she had progressed from fussing to full on crying. Stiles leaned over her box, trying to distract her with silly faces and wild gestures with no success. He picked her up again, noting how her diapered butt seemed warmer and squishier than before. A quick sniff test told him she’d taken another dump, so he slunk back downstairs to change her diaper and fix the next bottle. 

After feeding, burping, and changing her yet again, Stiles finally got her to fall back asleep. They were sitting in his computer chair, his feet propped up on the desk and the baby sleeping against his chest. Milena was curled up in her fetal position with her hot little cheek smushed against his collarbone, her open mouth pursed and dark hair tickling his chin where it stuck up. She felt so small, curled as she was into a little ball, but she was finally fully relaxed. Stiles had his computer propped on his lap, one hand below her butt and the other gently rubbing her back when he wasn’t scrolling down on the parenting blog he was currently reading. 

He’d probably been going on adrenaline up until that point, but it was definitely wearing off. Stiles’ eyes felt dry and heavy, and he found himself having to force them open now and then, not realizing he’d closed them. He didn’t want to move, worried he’d wake the baby, but he also wasn’t about to attempt sleeping in his computer chair with an infant. Carefully he stood, sure to hold her secure at the butt and neck so she moved as little as possible, and brought her to her box. She inhaled sharply as he began to set her down, and he froze at least three separate times, waiting until she quieted again before resuming the movement. 

He got about two hours of sleep before she was up again, and then maybe an hour more. By the time Scott called a little after 9am, Stiles was bleary eyed with a brewing headache. The buzzing phone woke the baby, who immediately voiced her displeasure with more renewed crying. 

Scott promised to be by in an hour, which meant Stiles probably had two. He brought the baby and her box down into the kitchen, grimacing in sympathy as he hurried past his dad’s shut door and heard displeased grumbling from within. He’d tried to keep the noise down the night before, even stuffed his old sheets under his door to try and dull the sound, but for such a tiny thing the baby had a set of pipes on her that in the dead of night seemed to rival Lydia’s Banshee wail. 

Stiles managed to hold Milena so he could brace the bottle on his chin while he fed her, freeing one hand to make a pot of coffee. It wasn’t a perfect system, and the bottle slipped several times, leaving her fussy and splattered with formula. He managed to spill coffee grounds everywhere in the process, but once done he held her more securely and let her finish the bottle. Once burped, he put her back in her box so he could make breakfast for himself, cracking a couple extra eggs in when he heard his dad stirring above. 

By the time his dad hobbled down the stairs, Stiles had a plate of eggs and wheat toast ready for him, along with a cup of black coffee, just how he preferred it. Stiles liked his own drowned in sugar and cream, and was just adding the last spoonful when John finally entered the kitchen, looking like he’d gotten just about as much sleep as Stiles. He took one pursed lipped look at the box before sighing heavily and easing himself down into one of the kitchen chairs, head in his hands. “I was hoping to be a little more rested for this conversation,” he began, fingers carding through his short hair. “But from the events last night I’m guessing that won’t be happening for some time, so let’s talk now.”

Stiles grimaced, pushing his dad’s coffee cup towards him before taking a sip of his own. “Ok Pops, whatever you say,” he offered weakly. 

John pointed a finger at the box. “So this baby is a werewolf...where are her parents? Is her pack from around Beacon Hills?”

Stiles carefully explained about how she was left at Derek’s old house the night before, and why Derek was worried about keeping her himself. He showed his dad the notes which had been left in the box, which his dad read over several times in full ‘Sheriff’ mode, complete with serious brow and business mouth. His dad kept peeking over the edge of the box at the sleeping baby, so Stiles finally took advantage of his curiosity and carefully lifted her out of the box. His dad made no move to hold her, but Stiles could tell he was being critiqued in his own technique of how he carried her and held her against him. She stirred, eyes cracking open and arms trembling before her as she struggled to wake up, her tiny fingers curling slightly around Stiles own when he pressed it against her palm. 

“So this is the reason I got about two hours of sleep last night,” John said, but despite the exasperated tone, Stiles could see the amusement shining behind his eyes. 

“This is indeed the reason,” Stiles mused, adjusting her in his arms so she could look out. He didn’t know how well she could see, being so young, but her eyes were wide how, her head jerking as she struggled to hold it up. “Her mom just wanted her to have a chance, and trusted us to take care of her. Derek’s looking into her pack, and we could always find another pack to take her, but I wouldn’t feel right giving her up unless I knew for sure she’d be safe.”

John’s face softened at that, seemed to understand the sentiment, recognize it as one he himself would likely share in a similar situation. He raised his coffee cup, taking a long sip before setting it back down again. They ate together in relative quiet a few moments, the both digesting the conversation and giving John a moment to think it over. “Babies are a lot of work, Stiles,” he said, nodding towards the dirty bottles lined up on the counter. “You can’t just keep this kid in a cardboard box...and you and Scott have never even taken care of a dog, much less a child.”

“I know that,” Stiles insisted. “I was up all night reading, found some good books to help me out...and Scott’s coming to get me in a bit, we’re going to pick up some more stuff for her. I just....what am I supposed to do, turn her away cause it’s a big job? Besides, you don’t give me enough credit for keeping the pack alive since high school, that was a tall freaking order…”

“But still different,” his dad insisted, not unkindly. “She doesn’t look much older than a month or two, some babies don’t exactly sleep through the night until they’re a year old...I don’t think you did til you were two, if ever.”

Stiles snorted. 

“Not to mention I had your mom,” John said, the words heavy on his tongue. “Is Scott going to be spending the night to help you? Is Derek? Any of the rest of the pack?”

Stiles promptly avoided eye contact, busying himself with scooping some scrambled eggs into his mouth. “So I’ll sleep more during the day and ask for their help then. Single women raise kids on their own all the time...Wanda did, and her kids turned out awesome.”

“Wanda also had nine months to prepare for her first born,” John interjected, mouth. “And this whole situation seems to be way more set in stone than you initially insinuated...whatever happened to finding her another pack?”

Stiles shrugged, looked down at her dark hair as he idly played with her foot. “You know how you just get feelings sometimes? I have a feeling about this...it just, it feels right. Like I’m supposed to do this.”

John snorted, leaning back in his chair and taking another long drink of his coffee. “This was night one, tell me that again on night fifteen and it’ll be a little more convincing.”

“Har har,” Stiles grumbled, giving her foot a little squeeze when she kicked in his hand, her eyes wide and spit bubbling between her lips. 

John took a bite of toast, pushing his eggs about with his fork before reaching for the pepper. “If she’s going to stay with us, she’s going to need a name.”

Stiles shifted in his seat, giving her a little bounce when she whined at him. “I kind of already have one…” he edged out, suddenly very worried of how his dad might react to the news. 

John waved his hand, still chewing, indicating that Stiles should come out with it. 

“It’s Milena,” he said, palm resting on her belly to hold her in place as he sat up a bit. 

His dad’s fork dropped back to the plate, air all out at once as his gaze shot over to Stiles. His mouth hung open, eyes glassy and so wounded Stiles was momentarily cowed into silence. “Your mo-” John’s voice broke off, and he swallowed, mouth tight when he spoke again, brows furrowed in hurt. “Your mom’s middle name? Did you...did you think I’d let you keep her this way? If this is your way of guilting me into this, Stiles, I-”

“No!” Stiles quickly interjected, his own face heating as he saw the wetness in his father’s eyes. “No, Dad I swear, I just...it just popped into my head. She kind of reminds me of mom, with her eyes and her nose. It wasn’t like that, I’d never use her like that.”

John nodded, shoulders rounding as they slumped. He wiped a broad palm over his face, clearing his eyes with a shake of his head. He reached forward with a nod, clasping Stiles on the shoulder before he stood and took his dishes to the sink. “If you’re planning to leave the house, you should take a shower,” he said as he rinsed off his plate. “I can keep an eye on her for ten minutes, but you better get me some earplugs at the store. You may be ready to give up your nights sleep, but I’m not.”

Stiles grinned, thrilled with his dad’s seeming acceptance, and quite frankly also for the chance to get clean. “Oh my god, you’re my hero. I’m still covered in puke and piss from last night. It’ll only be like 10 minutes I swear, and she’ll probably be fine in her box.” As if to demonstrate, he laid her down inside and tucked her soft blanket around her, tickling her tummy when her little arms and legs twitched like she was trying to flap them. He was just about to leave the room when his dad’s voice stopped him.

“It’s a good name,” John said softly, hands in the pockets of his sleep pants. “And I think if you commit to this half as well as you commit to everything else you do, you’re going to be a great parent...temporary or otherwise.”

Stiles couldn’t help the dopey smile that spread across his mouth, his eyes itchy as they heated in a rush of emotion. He rushed forward, arms out for a hug which his dad seemed ready to return until he held up a hand at the last second.

“Did you say puke ‘and’ pee?” his dad asked, brows furrowed with mild disgust as he cautiously surveyed Stiles’ stained shirt.

Stiles recoiled quickly with a nod of understanding. “Yeah” he agreed, giving his dad a double thumbs up. “Let’s hug it out after I shower.”


End file.
